After an hour of fast riding they rode up to the corral of the Cross Bar-8, and Shields, seeing a cowboy busily engaged in cleaning a rifle, asked for Sneed, at the same time making a mental note of the preparations which were going on about him.
The foreman, as if in answer to the sheriff’s words, walked into sight around the corral wall and stepped forward eagerly when he saw who the caller was.
“I see that you know all about it, Sheriff,” he began, hastily. “I’ve just told the boys that they can go out for him,” he continued. “They’re getting ready now, and will soon be on his trail.”
“Yes?” coldly inquired the sheriff.
“They’ll get him if you don’t,” assured the foreman, who had about as much tact as a mule.
“I’ll shoot the first man who tries it,” the sheriff said, as he flecked a bit of dust from his arm.
“What!” cried Sneed in astonishment. “By God, Sheriff, that’s a d––d hard assertion to make!”
“And I hold you responsible,” continued the sheriff, leaning forward as if to give weight to his words.
The cowboy stopped cleaning his rifle and stood up, covering the sheriff, a sneer on his face and anger in his eyes.
“If you’re a-scared, we ain’t, by God!” he cried. “The Orphan has got away too many times already, and here is where he gets stopped for good! When we gets through with him he won’t shoot no more friends of ourn, nor nobody else’s!”